


Centers

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 03:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hugh hates what their ship’s become.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	Centers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TiaKisu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaKisu/gifts).

> A/N: Set in S1. For TiaKisu, kind of a companion piece to [Steadies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110969).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Technically, it’s an abuse of power to change someone’s appointments just to suit his whims, and Hugh does feel guilty for it—he knows it’s _wrong_. But he also knows that what he and Paul have goes beyond the military structure that seems to run the USS Discovery, and if he just put in a normal request to see his partner, Lorca would turn him down. Lorca seems intent on working them all down to the bone, pushing them all far past their limits, and that’s why Hugh needs the company in the first place. He treats his seventeenth patient in one day, all with the same internal injuries from running drills rougher than regulations, and Hugh’s irritation mounts higher with each one. He’s not a military man by nature. He’s a doctor, not a soldier. He tries to be kind, calm, compassionate, but the war is getting under his skin just as much as everyone else, except worse, because he’s one of the few people who seems to see how _unnecessary_ it all is. 

He sends a message down to Engineering _insisting_ he see Lieutenant Stamets for a physical. Because Paul’s only an omega, something too many people consider a slave to raging hormones, there’s no protest. The computer accepts the sudden request, and a few seconds later, irritated text is shot right back—Paul doesn’t want to leave his precious spores. He’s knee-deep in his research. He’s _always_ buried in research. Hugh only needs a minute. He sends the order again.

The eighteenth crewmember comes in while he waits. Her arm is twisted from being slammed into a bulkhead. When he asks her how it happened, she makes it sound like it’s her own fault. Like Lorca’s constant battle simulations are perfectly reasonable. She’s an omega who doesn’t know any better—when an alpha so fierce as Lorca barks at her, of course she scrambles to obey. She deserves so much better. They all do. The alpha in Hugh tries to claw up to the surface. He just wants to rip them away from the madmen running their ship and protect them all. But he can’t. He can only treat the injuries once it’s already too late. 

He patches her up, sends her on her way, and then Paul’s stalking into sickbay, bristling with nerves. He struts right past all the nurses and tells Hugh under his breath, “I’m _fine_. My heat’s not for another three weeks at least, and I’m right at—”

Hugh slips his hand into Paul’s and tugs Paul over. Paul shuts up, eyes flickering down, and he follows where Hugh takes them. Hugh crowds them into his private office, making sure the doors close behind him. Paul’s eyes dart up again, dilating slightly, clouding over with the same heady look he gets every time Hugh touches him. Paul breathes, “We don’t have time to fool around.”

Hugh murmurs, “I know.” It feels like they never do anymore. They’re both too exhausted by the time their shifts finally end. Too exasperated. They’re too stressed out from the day. At least they can cuddle up together on the same bunk and soak in each other’s company. Without that bond, that warmth and comfort, Hugh would’ve already blown up. 

He pulls Paul gently into his arms, and Paul tenses for a heartbeat before surrendering. He melts around Hugh’s embrace, hands lifting to splay against Hugh’s broad shoulders. Hugh presses his face into Paul’s neck and just _breathes him in._ The mingling smells of grease and dirt have overtaken the cologne he put on in the morning. Hugh can still sense _Paul_ underneath it. Feeling Paul against him—_his_ omega, the one person he really will protect at all costs—has an incredibly grounding effect. It helps stabilize the strain of the outside world, because for that one moment, there _is_ no outside world. There’s only him and Paul. Paul seems to understand; he turns to peck Hugh’s cheek. 

Hugh doesn’t dare kiss Paul when he pulls away, because Paul’s handsome and so tender when he wants to be—one thing will lead to another, and they’ll be frantically making love in Hugh’s office like they’re not in the middle of a war. So they separate chastely, though Hugh’s fingers stay entwined with Paul’s. 

Paul opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but there’s nothing to say. He has to understand. Hugh knows he’s just as stressed. Maybe the quick break will help Paul too. 

Paul returns to life faster than Hugh does. Paul’s work doesn’t involve as much of the grim reality. He lifts Hugh’s hand to kiss the back, then detangles himself. He leaves without staying for any actual medical treatment, but Hugh didn’t mean to do that anyway. 

Hugh straightens his uniform, sucks in a breath, and returns to the growing casualties of Lorca’s bloody war.


End file.
